


all that you are

by velvetcrowbars



Series: the wind and the sky [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (i won't), Falling In Love, First Times, Fluff, M/M, WOW I ACTUALLY CONTINUED THIS SERIES, maybe i will write something serious next time, more of dumb boys being stupidly in love, there's lots of cuddling and bokuto is sappy as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 14:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2471654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcrowbars/pseuds/velvetcrowbars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Bokuto finds himself a lot more in love with Akaashi than originally planned. </p>
  <p>(okay, let's be real here, there was never any plan at all to begin with)</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	all that you are

**Author's Note:**

> "Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage." 
> 
> -Lao Tzu

_i. the call to adventure (of clichés and other such phenomenon)_

  


Bokuto Koutarou has always believed in fate, or he likes to think that he does anyway. There just has to be a reason for being late to school on a certain day, missing the train, or not meeting someone for the first time: it’s destiny. The hands of time all have a way of making sure things fall into place just as they’re supposed to; even if we don’t like how things pan out in the end. There is a purpose behind everything in our lives, a story held behind every action and emotion. Things such as the belief in immortality, soulmates, love at first sight; they are a part of the reasoning behind the workings of fate.

 

(although his personal experience of love at first sight was different then most, probably.)

 

It came in the form of perfectly tucked in uniform shirts, swirls of dark hair and alabaster skin, heavily lidded eyes and a concaving feeling in his chest. The lines of a neck peaking out from a perfectly wrinkled shirt and a level-headedness that was almost off-putting in it’s initial introduction. Hands stuffed in pockets and a look of false resignation to every slight thing he did. Unceremoniously unapologetic and half hidden away behind a wall of something untouchable, that is what immediately came to mind - that is what Bokuto saw as Akaashi Keiji at first glance. With just a single glance Bokuto was able to gather all this information, but what he was supposed to do with it he wasn’t sure yet.

 

(Bokuto’s first love was not some instantaneous explosion of light and colliding of stars.)

 

Akaashi Keiji seemed like he could be made of hollowed out bones and fragments of the universe, pieces of things that Bokuto did not and probably would never fully understand (then again, Bokuto didn’t understand a lot of things). Akaashi Keiji had that funny smile that was more a twist of his lips than anything else and a laugh that seldom passed his throat but god it was fantastic when it did; like the wind through the cherry blossoms and warm rain in summer that made him feel all jumbled up inside.

 

(when Akaashi smiled, he felt like he could do anything in the world.)

 

Bokuto fell in love at first sight of all the little things about Akaashi Keiji: how he pulled his shirt over his head by crossing his arms across his torso (like a girl, that’s the thought that always struck him), how he would push the hair away from his forehead when he was frustrated and the way he let water drip off his nose when washing his face at the outside faucets. The small and everyday actions like the way he held the volleyball with outstretched fingers and the look on his face when his set went through as planned; with every single one Bokuto knew he was falling deeper and deeper into being completely and idiotically enamored with his setter.

 

In shorter terms, he’s so fucked.

 

Sure it kind of sucked when he couldn’t finish a math problem without thinking about the way Akaashi’s collar bones peek out of his uniform sweater when he’s changing, but Bokuto figures that love is probably supposed to kind of suck anyway.

 

(it should suck in more ways than one, or that’s what Kuroo says at least)

 

Being in love with Akaashi didn’t suck; at least not initially. Before any words of confession had passed between them and they spent their time artfully dancing around one another for the first few months was never bad - it was only the time leading up to making the leap, a leap that for the longest time, Bokuto thought he was making on his own.

 

(that’s the thing, Akaashi _definitely_ has him figured out, he knows this for sure, down to what he might be thinking about next. the real problem was, he couldn’t figure out Akaashi.)

 

It isn’t until Bokuto leans in one day when they’re alone in the locker room for their fourth kiss ever (he was counting, just to make sure it wasn’t a dream or anything), and Akaashi leaned together with him that he realized he had never been making this leap alone; that falling in love required two people and that Akaashi was his second person. His other half, so to speak and no one else’s.

 

(He lurched forward on the lean in with anticipation and Akaashi caught his lips all the same.)

  


_ii. test, allies, and enemies (dark nights and cold feet)_

  


Everyone has a certain place where they feel the most at ease. Whether it be the ocean, a garden, a house, a room; sometimes it isn’t even a place at all. It’s almost like a reset check point; a state to let down all facades and ulterior motives. In other words, it is where we are able to be ourselves without any regards or regulations.

 

A lot of people call it _home_.

 

At least, that’s what Akaashi said anyway. It was during one of their late night phone calls, which had started on accident when Bokuto made the discovery of Akaashi being a night owl, almost to the point of unhealthy excessiveness. The conversation normally ranged somewhere between pointless topics like school and movies to volleyball but Bokuto adored every second out it. Akaashi is more talkative on the phone, or maybe talkative isn't quite the right word. His presence is stronger, he feels more solid when all that can be heard is his voice; all rich resonating tones and quiet hums in Bokuto’s ear that are intimate enough to make his stomach churn.

 

Akaashi always claims he's never needed much sleep to function, but Bokuto begs to differ when he falls asleep with his face buried in Bokuto’s chest when it gets too late on their stay-home movie nights.

 

(but he thinks it’s better probably not to mention that fact.)

 

Sometimes, _home_ is a person.

 

Akaashi said that too, his voice trailing off at the end of his sentence like there was more words to come but they had died on his lips before he could say them. It had gotten so quiet so suddenly on his end of the line Bokuto checked to make sure the call hadn’t disconnected.

 

“Akaashi?”

 

“I’m here, sorry.”

 

The clock on his bedside table reads 2:03 a.m. Akaashi is silent again. Bokuto’s eyes start seeing double with exhaustion but he doesn't want to hang up yet. He wants to stay in this little space between midnight and dawn just a little longer, to hold onto Akaashi a little bit more.

 

“What are you thinking about?”

 

2:05 a.m. and his face feels too warm for it to be the middle of winter.

 

“You, I guess.”

 

“Me?”

 

He could almost feel that gentle quirk of a smile through the phone. It got quiet again and Bokuto began to think he may never get a reply when the whisper rose above the white noise that fills all rooms in the late hours of the night. It was exasperated and breathless, adoring and tense, so unlike anything Akaashi would let out of his mouth in a face-to-face conversation, but unmistakably there:

 

“I’m always thinking about you.”

 

If his face was warm before, now it’s on fire. It had been this way since the beginning; he would think his feelings were all under control and in check and then Akaashi goes and says something like _that_ and well, if he had to put it into words: Akaashi could be so unfair.

 

“H-Hey, that’s my line.”

 

Sometimes _home_ is a person and Bokuto thinks that maybe if that is the case, he had found his home only a short while ago; in calloused hands with delicate finger tips, in blush dusting pale skin between stolen kisses and in endless onyx eyes under a furrowed brow.

 

Akaashi sighs along with the rustling of sheets through the phone speaker and it’s 2:10 a.m. and stupid probably to think so but Bokuto, in this small forever between them, wants to kiss Akaashi Keiji more than anything else in the entire world.

  


_iii. the trial (invincible)_

  


When it comes the first time, probably inevitable and not entirely unwelcome, it hits him like a freight train.

 

There’s no space left between them in the dark of his bedroom, Akaashi’s lips pressed against his neck and fingers roaming through his hair, his own hands hiked up the other’s shirt and gently rubbing lines across Akaashi’s ribcage, and Bokuto begins to consider a few things that had never occurred to him before. Like the way Akaashi’s bites at his lower lip and swipes his tongue along the edge of his teeth, how his breath hitches at the slightest move of Bokuto against him like it burns, and maybe it does. In the subtle and hesitant touches, the rut of Akaashi’s hips in tender motions against his own, Bokuto finds something incredible.

 

_“I want you, Bokuto-san.”_

_“Akaa-?”_

_“I want you. I want this or... us.”_

_“What are you-”_

_“I thought about what you said before. I made up my mind. Is that a problem?”_

Even with all of their clothes still intact in this moment, just a few minutes ago Bokuto felt like he had already been laid completely bare; that there was nothing left but his blood and bones and beating heart that only felt for Akaashi.

 

(it was scary and thrilling and _awesome_ all at once,)

 

They had never really talked about sex. For some reason it was something that he never felt awkward about bringing up, _but when they had everything else in the entire world why did something like that even matter?_

(“I’m game, but only if you are.” that’s what he had told Akaashi in the most nonchalant way he could muster after a mid afternoon cuddle session, his fingers toying with soft hair at the nape of his neck and Akaashi hazily stroking the tops of his cheekbones. it made his heart feel all mushy when he did that, and it is one of the few things he can never admit even to this day.)

 

Of course, Bokuto didn’t expect Akaashi to say yes.

 

He had gotten to know the other well enough to realize that he couldn't beat around the bush with the things he wanted and he had thought about it a lot, like a lot a lot (mainly in the sanctuary of his own room under his own covers in case of unwanted visitors) to determine what exactly it was that he wanted, and how he could get it.

 

(what he wanted was Akaashi; utterly and completely and in that he had no doubt whatsoever,)

 

But that was the catch-22, he never knows what Akaashi is going to do. Even after almost two years of being a pair both off and on the court, he had remained an equation that had yet to be solved.

 

The thoughts had began to occur overtime, because while at first it was total physical attraction that drew him to Akaashi (because let’s face it, Akaashi’s hot, in an atypical, post-grunge aesthetic kind of way), that slowly faded away. Between the stolen glances and matches they won together with clasped fists and a mutual affection grown from late night walks home and secret kisses behind textbooks in the library, the physical part had largely disappeared from Bokuto's conscience. It wasn’t until things had taken a turn for being deeper and heavier that the thoughts began to come back.

 

“Okay?”

 

Akaashi’s crouched over him, the tip of their noses barely touching. His mouth is red and his lips look sore and there are lines of worry creasing the space between his eyes.

 

They didn’t need to be physical, _but they wanted to be._

It had taken him a while to figure it all out and have it make sense in his head, but that must be what Akaashi meant.

 

_“I want you.”_

“Yeah, ‘m okay.” he kisses the concern from Akaashi’s face and slips his hands below his pants to feel the heat between his hip bones.

 

_I really want you too._

 

(it’s slow burn and almost romantic, the way Akaashi unravels and Bokuto loses count of how many times _“you’re beautiful”_ slips out of his swollen lips in a single night, because it’s true: Akaashi is beautiful and Bokuto wonders, definitely not for the first time, how he got so damn lucky.)

  


_iv. the reward (lazy sunday afternoons)_

  


If there is one thing that Bokuto will always and undeniably love about Akaashi it is his warmth. Even if his skin is cold to the touch at first, it heats when they brush together in rare moments seated on the bench or under the table during lunch break, becomes flammable at the mere prospect of being in contact. His eyes can cut like knives on the court but also burn with the soft flames of dying embers in the doorframe to Bokuto’s room; deep and aching with the need for something he couldn’t put a finger on.

 

(sure it’s funny to watch him cut down the first years who slacked in practice with a single slicing gaze, but Bokuto finds ease in knowing he is the only one who knows the Akaashi with fire for eyes and lust in his lungs)

 

“Bokuto-san. Bokuto-san.”

 

Akaashi is especially warm when buried in a burrito of blankets and smelling like peppermint shampoo, his leg hitched up on Bokuto’s thigh and breath smelling faintly like saki.

 

“Wake up. Bokuto-san.”

 

It’s barely seven o’clock on the day after their final tournament together as ace and setter, and Bokuto does not want to wake up. Not yet.

 

(Akaashi is nestling closer to his chest, hands balled up in loose fists near Bokuto’s neck and despite how close they are already he finds himself unprepared for the kiss pressed to his jawbone and-)

 

If he were to open his eyes now, the reality of what had happened last night would come crashing back down and he would be forced to face what was coming in just a few more weeks: graduation. And he _seriously_ didn’t wanna do that. Not yet.

 

“ _Koutarou, wake up._ ”

 

(-his eyes snap open almost at their own volition, partially in sheer shock at the voice that he knows so well uttering his name and partially because it sounded so _nice_ when that voice said it.)

 

“Ah. It worked.”

 

There’s lock of hair falling across Akaashi’s face, tickling the bridge of his nose. With the sunlight filtering in from the drawn curtain of the window behind him and the thick, dark lashes falling across those ember eyes, Bokuto wants to take a mental snapshot and file it away for the days his head plummets down the drain on him and it seems impossible to climb his way back up.

 

(because soon, he won’t be able to. this is precisely the reason waking up was a bad idea.)

 

Akaashi is so unfair. And he doesn’t even realize it.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Kuroo said it would.”

 

_Bastard. Stupid sneaky bastard who knows him all too well._

 

He lets the words go unsaid between them and Akaashi does his best to hide the smirk that twitches at his lips. It’s quiet for a while, neither of them really feeling the need to say anything at all. It’s enough to take up the same space together for a little while, just like this.

 

“We won…”

 

(it comes out of his mouth before he realizes it, and the words hit him in his gut like a physical punch, but a good kind of punch somehow.)

 

“We won.” Akaashi echoes, for once a little louder than Bokuto can muster at the moment.

 

The memories of the previous night flood his senses and overwhelm his brain only for a few seconds, but it’s enough to have it all hit his chest at once in a single swell of disbelief. How the ball had slammed into the other side of the court in their final try to break the deuce, the squeak of the whistle and the final turn of the numbers under the name Fukurodani to one digit higher. The lights were almost too bright and the crowds almost too loud, but all Bokuto can remember is the press of his teammates around him and the feeling of being able to fly right then and there. 

 

“First in the nation.” the smile was already breaking onto his face without meaning to as the words settled in the air between them.

 

The excitement was flooding back into his bones as Akaashi released one of the few smiles that stretched to his eyes, white and ever so slightly crooked teeth on full display.

 

(it’s his favorite smile - it’s the smile that he fell in love with and the smile that never failed to pick him back up from that bottomless place time after time)

 

“Keiji, we won!”

 

Akaashi halts for a moment, almost like he’s shorting out of circuit with a face that says  _this isn’t what was supposed to happen I did not come prepared for this what did I sign up for_  and it only makes Bokuto laugh even more, flinging his arms out from under the cocoon of blankets and sheets and tugging him straight against his body and it doesn’t feel like there isn’t a part of them that's not touching anymore.

 

“Keiji. _Keiji._ ”

 

He tried out the name a few times on his tongue reveling in how familiar it feels even though he had never spoken it to it’s owner before. It feels _good_ and just plain right, sitting there between his lips and muffled against his face buried in Akaashi’s hair.

 

“Keiji. Ke-i-ji,”

 

“Will you please stop it.”

 

“I will never stop, Keiji.”

 

“ _Please_ let me go, Bokuto-san.”

 

(Akaashi’s voice is trembling a little bit, but Bokuto knows its just a habit that kicks in when he’s embarrassed. he would love to see how red his face has turned at this point, the red flooding his entire pale complexion was truly a sight to behold. the ever stoic Akaashi Keiji: brought down by a single word.)

 

“Oh come on!”

 

“No.”

 

“Just say it! Just one more time, then I’ll let you go!”

 

There’s a disgruntled sigh against his clavicle and Akaashi’s grip at his hips tighten a little bit.

 

“Koutarou. Please, Koutarou.”

 

(it takes almost all of his willpower not to burst at the seams right there.)

 

Maybe if things could stay like this, graduation wouldn’t matter in the long run.

 

The future is downright terrifying but he figures that if Akaashi ( _Keiji_ he reminds himself with a glow settling in his chest and buzz behind his skull) was there by his side then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Things did not need to change, and even if things changed, Bokuto had a feeling that _they_ never would.

 

(after all, life does not have to be perfect to be wonderful.)

 

Akaashi bumps their foreheads together and traces the ley lines of his lips and cheekbones and counts the freckles dotted along his nose and eyelids one by one.

 

(in the end, Bokuto concludes that life may be perfect anyway)

**Author's Note:**

> wow i am so
> 
> please listen to 'love like this' by kodaline because 
> 
> reasons 
> 
> pls excuse the typos my eyes already hurt
> 
> bokuaka has become my lifeblood no one touch me


End file.
